Coming In
by Fish and Bird
Summary: Barely two weeks after the Cullens faced down the greatest vampire army ever assembled, the first moves in the vengeange of the Volturi come to light. A reluctant nomad must make decisions which will radically change his life and the lives of the Cullens.
1. Decisions, Decisions

**Prologue**** – Decisions, Decisions**

"_If it be right, do it boldly; if it be wrong, leave it undone."_

_Bernard Gilpin_

**Tuesday 9****th**** January, 2007 – 22.35**

"Demetri, you said? A fitting name for the thuggish henchman of an effete Italian dandy," I murmured as I turned his head from side to side in a slow roll. His glassy, lifeless eyes were already losing their crimson hue to become closer to what they had once been in his long-forgotten human life. This was an unmistakeable sign of death in one of our kind, although such were the lengths that were ordinarily necessary to kill us – dismemberment followed by immediate immolation – that few of us ever witnessed the phenomenon.

The only thing keeping his enormous body upright was my right arm with its hand wrapped tightly around his throat and in the vampire scheme of things, I wasn't considered to be particularly strong. As I pondered this unexpected turn of events, I stood stock still as only a vampire is capable of doing. Had any humans happened across us in that damp back alley they might well have blinked in puzzlement, taking us for posed mannequins – an outlandish advert for some boringly predictable 'avante-garde' designer.

No matter. There were no witnesses as the one who just scant moments ago had confronted me had obviously planned it that way. It had been the perfectly executed ambush and I had walked obliviously into it. Had the lumbering idiot not been possessed of the need to inform me of who he was and why he was about to kill me, he very probably would have taken my head off without me being aware of his presence.

"_Follis!__"_ I swore, not really knowing if I was addressing the corpse or myself.

As my senses strained for any sign of an accomplice, I quickly took in the more obvious details of my would-be assassin. He had been, I grudgingly admitted, a good choice for the role of executioner. His now proven cunning aside, he looked little more than a hulking great bruiser who might bring nothing more to bear on a problem than muscle. Nothing could be further from the truth, of course, but if one underestimated one's opponent as he had done me then the results were invariably fatal. Vampires seldom took prisoners.

Further yet I reached out to the limit of my acute hearing as my nostrils flared, straining to catch the merest whiff of incongruity on the damp breeze. There was as yet no sign that the one who had claimed to be called Demetri was not operating alone, but to run would be rash. Let them come to me now that I knew I was in danger; let them find themselves faced with my talent. Besides, I would have to dispose of the body lest I further arouse the interest of the Volturi. Resolving to use this stillness productively, I cast my mind back barely two weeks in order to review the names and faces of those previously mysterious Italian ghouls.

*

I had been just one of the unwilling witnesses-cum-hostages whom the Volturi lackeys had efficiently swept up on their journey from Italy the very north of the New World. Ordinarily, I would not have been able to allow myself to be brought under the noses of that knot of power-hungry, suspicious parasites. Unfortunately for me, therefore, there had been far too many of our kind around for me to absolutely guarantee my anonymity had I employed my own power to cheerfully commit wholesale murder. Consequently, I had found myself an increasingly incredulous and slack-jawed witness to the staggering idiocy of our kind.

Werewolves! Who on earth cared which 'flavour' of shape-shifters they were? That spectacularly dim-witted Egyptian pretty boy who could create wind and split the ground? Who amongst us were incapable of resisting the fiercest of typhoons or leaping across the widest of canyons? At the end of the day, each side was every bit as bad as the other: strutting peacocks who sought to cow the other with useless displays of garish plumage. The only ones with any brains seemed to be the Volturi henchmen who simply wanted to rip their masters' enemies limb from limb. Their attitude might have lacked subtlety, but it would have worked.

However, the whole sorry affair had played out without a satisfactory resolution for vampirekind. At some point in the future, the Volturi would attack again. Indeed, they would have to if they were to deter emerging power bases who, unlike the golden-eyed Cullens, actually coveted the reins of our world. Quite why anyone would bother was beyond me as herding cats would be simplicity incarnate in comparison to controlling an unknown number of peripatetic super-predators who mostly couldn't tolerate one another's company. Still, some moron would want the job and that fact alone ensured future strife.

First Aro would need to pick off the emotional new-born woman, her mind reading mate and, if rumours were to be believed, the tiny seer. Birds of a feather might very well flock together, but such a collection of talents under one roof? Surely nothing similar had ever happened before in the history of our kind outside of Volterra? Everyone could see that particular collision coming, but perhaps that wasn't the case for what had happened here tonight.

Before anything could be achieved, the Italians would first need to discredit or eliminate as many of their witnesses as they could. Were they not to do so, word of their frustration at the hand of a mere handful of vampires would undoubtedly spread far and fast. That would in turn lead to humiliation and a further vulnerability in the mystique which surrounded them and those who wished to keep both their power and their heads simply could not allow that to happen.

Hence the presence of this Demetri.

I had taken my usual precautions after fleeing the scene of the confrontation, so it must have been bad luck on my part that I was near the top of the hit list. Perhaps that or it was merely a case of apparent good luck for him. Whatever had happened, as he had quite skilfully cornered me in my temporary abode – an abandoned industrial warehouse – he had seen no need not to enjoy himself by giving me a chance to amuse him by fighting him _'mano e mano'_. Idiot – he must have been quite young as only his casual cruelty and cocksure arrogance had saved me and likewise doomed him.

These thoughts had flitted through my head in just a few brief seconds, of course, and as they faded I found myself still to be needlessly pinning the motionless corpse to the wall. It was odd to say the least when I released him only to see his body fall to the ground in an almost human manner, so ungainly was it.

"Run and hide, or speak to the Cullens?" I mused as I dragged the limp form towards the soon-to-be broken gas pipe.

*


	2. Call me Ishmael

**Chapter Two**** – Call me Ishmael**

"_A man's name is not like a mantle, which merely hangs about him, and which one perchance may safely twitch and pull, but a perfectly fitting garment, which like the skin has grown over and over him, at which one cannot rake and scrape without injuring the man himself."_

_Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

**Saturday 13****th**** January, 2007 – 11.10**

I didn't quite know what to expect as I departed for a place I had firmly intended never to set foot in again. Forks actually bore a strong resemblance to my long ago left-behind home what with its climate, forests and mountains, and through all of the tumultuous events of the confrontation I had still managed to take note of the fact. Obviously, there was some small part of me which felt eager to ramble along the leafy paths of the forest and drink in the green-tinged murk cast by the thick canopy of branches. A desire to smell the rich loam of the forest give way to the flinty sharpness of the mountains pierced the usual indifference to my surroundings, and perhaps that was why I decided upon the course of action I chose when it came time to make contact with the golden-eyed lunatics.

These slight emotional compensations aside, there were one or two significant flies in the ointment which would ensure I wouldn't spend all my time sight-seeing, however: namely, vampires and werewolves. Granted, I ought to refer to the latter as shape-shifters, but having seen the real things as both a mortal and an immortal I simply couldn't overcome the distaste I felt for quadrupedal supernatural beings. My own kind was bad enough, but packs of slavering enemies not only perfectly capable of ripping me to pieces, but also hell-bent on doing so? No thank you.

The former I was less worried about as they most probably would not feel threatened if I approached openly, alone and perhaps most importantly if I didn't poach on their lands. I had used to consider my own attitude to hunting to be a trifle 'hair shirt' in that I fed only when extremely thirsty and then preyed solely on the dying or criminal. In comparison to this coven, however, I was every inch the monster and was sure that they would hold my crimson eyes against me when I eventually did turn up in their town. Still, having seen them with my own eyes, I rather trusted that the freak show known collectively as the Cullens would hear me out rather than rip me to pieces. Granted, the fact that they had a mind reader complicated matters for me considerably, but I thought I had a handle on that.

No, it was the wolves that were the real problem as I had no idea as to their abilities, disposition or whereabouts. Would my own power work on them as it did on humans and vampires? An undignified end to my life it would be if I was forced to defend myself only to be met with brief incomprehension on their parts as I uselessly waggled my fingers at them, followed by an even briefer period for me filled with teeth. This being the case, I needed a safe entry strategy into the town. Fortunately, given that all parties seemed to retain just enough sanity to want to maintain their respective supernatural secrets, it would be best if I travelled in on the bus and set up shop in a central hotel. Sooner or later, they would come to me.

If the worst came to the worst, I had more experience than any of them when it came to turning tail and running like the craven coward I undoubtedly was.

*

One good thing about this obscure corner of the continental Unites States was the rain shadow cast by the nearby Olympic Mountains. On the one side, the moisture-rich clouds rolling in from the Pacific Ocean couldn't rise above the nearby peaks and consequently dumped their cargo in the form of precipitation – the oh-so useful rain, snow and fog. On the other side, there was a virtual desert due to the greedy nature of those jealous mountains, but who cared? It was obvious why vampires might feel comfortable in this area of the world.

The town of Forks was more or less as I had imagined it would be – people were people all over the world, after all. The residents seemed decent enough and took a modicum of pride in their town, appearances and honest jobs. The shops were plain, yet serviceable, and seemed to maintain a steady trade. Likewise, the residents were almost unfailingly polite and did the decent thing in affecting a disinterested air in the presence of a stranger who failed to move on to his professed interest in outdoor leisure pursuits as did the vast majority of tourists, but instead inexplicably lingered on in the only decent hotel.

And who could blame them? My ostensible cover as a city boy come to escape the Big Smoke for an extended vacation was laughably thin. I had taken three days to visit the local suppliers, consulted lengthily with each and every one of them and finally purchased all the equipment a hiker might need. Even though nobody had tried to cheat me, the resulting pile of clothes, camping equipment and the like would have been surprisingly bulky, uncomfortably heavy and not inexpensive for a mortal. Next, a further day had been spent in consulting those in the know over the merits of various routes, be they the possible fishing spots, spectacular scenery or the slight-to-exaggerated danger of bear attacks according to who you talked to. By dint of portraying myself as hungry for dramatic stories of daring-do, I managed to eke out that one day to two and earn myself a reputation as a woods-shy gossiping tenderfoot into the bargain.

The next day I still hadn't embarked and was beginning to think that I might just have to venture into the damnable forest with its attendant four-legged complications. That was still the one thing I absolutely had to avoid, I told myself, but I was beginning to wonder at my objectivity. What with the resemblance to the lands where I was breached and the opportunities the seemingly endless cloud cover and rain afforded me to browse the three small book shops and simply walk the streets, this town was beginning to grow on me. With the hood of my shapeless duffel coat pulled up, I even managed to avoid the stares which my deathly pallor often brought me when I wandered drier streets at night. All in all, I could have had a less pleasant time had it not been for the matter hanging over my head.

Nursing a deer burger and some fries, I was sitting under the verandah at a local fast food outlet and watching the world go by as I considered my options. What was my place in this now rapidly changing vampire world and why, oh why was I _here_? The two were undoubtedly related, but why should politics amongst the power-hungry elite have unsettled me so as to produce this uncharacteristic introspection on my part? Why would I of all people stick my neck out in this imprudent manner? I was a confirmed nomad who habitually wandered the world on foot and without a plan. Occasionally, I would settle for a year or two in an interesting place as I immersed myself in recent developments in literature, art or technology, but what was invariably true was that whatever I was doing and wherever I was doing it, I tried to stay away from 'my' world.

_sniff_

Talking of staying away from my world... By blind luck, I happened to be downwind of them. Two distinct scents, at least. My hands came away from the cold food and pulled my hood down as slowly as I was able: no good alerting them to my presence by drawing their attention with speed no mortal possessed. As I quickly took in the scene, I was pleased to note it was the middle of a damp afternoon and that there were plenty of humans milling around. Everything hinged on this being their home and them not wanting to reveal themselves by ripping me to pieces in a public place. If I managed to convince them I was here to speak and not to hunt on their lands, I might just pull this off.

Feeling tense in the extreme, I quickly assessed the immediate environment. There were a plethora of witnesses and my environment was open on all sides, so that precluded an ambush as they would be unable to hide violence from the humans. Or was that true? Fights between our kind were few and far between and we didn't get much practice. It tended to be a case of instant death as one side would have the upper hand over the other and would invariably end it quickly. The two vampires I saw were male: one a hulking great oaf with dark hair whilst the other looked lean and capable and sported a fuller head of fair hair.

"_Perfututum!__"_ I swore the instant I saw his scars. There were relatively few to see as he wore a long-sleeved shirt, but they told his tale well. The ante had just been raised and I had to make a decision quickly. Big Oaf wasn't as worrying as Scar Face who was undeniably a killer, but would they try anything here and now? Probably not, I decided. Impulsively, I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth to produce an ear-splitting crack. The humans all looked to the branches in the nearest trees with some alarm for the source of noise, but the two men managed to locate me unerringly in less than half a second.

"Kindred, I am _not_ here to hunt but to warn you about the Volturi. Hear me out, I beseech you!" I explained so fast it would be nigh on undetectable to the surrounding humans. I stood slowly with my hands held out slightly from my side. Perhaps Big Oaf wasn't quite as stupid as he looked as he instantly moved away from Scar Face, forcing me to keep track off two separate targets. However, so far they were moving at human speed so as not to draw attention to themselves, and that bespoke a level of emotional control which might mean I would succeed…or survive the encounter at the least.

"I have not hunted, nor shall I. I have not entered the trees so as not to provoke the shape-shifters. I wish to leave as soon as I have imparted this information. I am here alone," I stated as loudly as I needed to make myself heard over the intervening sixty feet and the sparse traffic. To a human, it would have sounded as if I had groaned due to stiff legs when I stood up.

Big Oaf and Scar Face were competently quartering the immediate area, checking for others of our kind undoubtedly. I stood there awaiting the conclusion to this process not as immobile as I could be - for that unnatural stillness would attract the unwelcome eyes of mortals – but instead emulating the ticks and slight fidgeting demonstrated by all humans, even though all I wanted to do was to bolt. So far, so good; everyone was acting sensibly and pretending to be human, which was hopeful. In just a few brief moments they had satisfied themselves that there was no great number of enemies bearing down on them, so they diverted more of their attention back to me.

Scar Face jerked his chin, indicating that I should approach them. I did so, making a show of looking both ways for traffic and even going so far as to wave a greeting as if I knew them. After what seemed like an eternity, I was close enough for their liking – ten feet – and while Big Oaf whispered into a cell phone and kept his eyes peeled for a treacherous ambush, the killer raised his eyebrow and looked me up and down appraisingly.

"Never look a gift horse in the mouth," I said dryly.

"Beware of Italian-controlled Greeks bearing gifts," he retorted, his oddly amber eyes boring into my own decidedly crimson irises.

"Fool! I was one of the witnesses to the unrest _you_ created; an unwilling one, I might add. Ten nights ago, a lackey of the Volturi found me unprepared and cornered me in Vancouver. As I had no connections to, or friends in, that part of the world or indeed firm intentions for my near future, I assume I was located by some sort of talent. My would-be assassin saw fit to inform me that my death had been ordered by the Volturi, and this brief pause allowed me to marshal my strength, overpower and kill him. I came here for no other reason than to warn you."

"You could have telephoned us, written a letter or even sent word via a mortal courier," interjected Big Oaf. "Our family is well known in these parts and it..."

"And why would you accept the truth of such a message? Anything could be an attempt on the part of the Volturi to manipulate their enemies or sow dissension in their ranks. I am her for one reason: to let your overly-pretty brother pick my brains. Once he has the truth of the matter, I will most assuredly be on my way," I explained, marvelling at his naivety and wandering as to his age.

A solid sheet of freezing rain advanced towards us across the parking lot and I slowly raised my hands to raise my hood once again. To not do so might serve to raise the suspicions of nearby humans. That they were talking to me augured well, but I did not want to tempt fate and have the locals call the police in order to deal with what looked like a potentially violent confrontation between aggressively posturing young men. Shifting my weight onto one leg, I attempted to affect a casual stance as I awaited the next development.

"Why?" asked the scarred one. His meaning was abundantly clear to me even if the lumbering ape at his side frowned at the question.

"My enemy's enemy is my friend?" I suggested with a slight shrug of my shoulders. "If their attention remains fixed on you that ends up being better for me."

"Perhaps, but that is not the reason," he stated matter-of-factly.

"It isn't," I agreed, "but what do you care? You _know_ I am alone and consequently you likewise _know_ you can safely control any encounter with your brother. Also, you seem to enjoy at least a modicum of co-operation from the shape-shifters, so you hold all the cards."

Despite the fact that his face was as smooth as a mask, I knew that he was trying to find fault. I could hardly blame him as I would be doing exactly the same were I in his shoes. I raised my hands to pick at an imaginary dry cuticle as I awaited his answer. It was odd that for vampires who lived around humans, they hadn't seemed to have developed their body language to a greater degree: both of them were preternaturally still. Nerves perhaps, I allowed with a smirk showing on my mouth.

"While you await our response, you will _not_ feed in Forks or its surroundings," stated Scar Face firmly. My logic was impeccable and he knew it – a fact which ought to have irked him, but surprisingly seemed not to.

"If your response is so late in coming that I am forced to seek sustenance, you will find me long gone," I snapped back, irritated by the near-perfect control he seemed to enjoy. If they were all either brainless thugs or emotionally stunted like these two, I would be better off leaving now. Lowering my hood as they backed away from me and quickly drove away in a ridiculously large vehicle, I planned just such a strategy.

*

My anger drained away quickly enough with their withdrawal and I had soon resumed my calm exploration of the town with its attendant reading and socialising. I was in a pensive mood and was analysing the brief encounter, desperate to glean any useful information from their choice of words and their attitudes. However, there was nothing to be done with such a short and ill-tempered tête-à-tête and I was sure they had walked away with more information that I had. Shaking my head, I wondered at my recent mood swings. Were they the fruit of the stressful situation I found myself in, or was it the fact that I had stopped my never-ending roaming for a brief period?

It wasn't as if I had any secrets to keep as such, but rather the fact that the nomadic nature of super predators such as vampires suited my cultural prejudices rather nicely. The society which had birthed and formed me no longer existed, per se. Like so many others, it had naturally evolved into a form which would be utterly incomprehensible to my long dead family and friends and although I was by no means an ancient by our standards, I shared this fate with many of my immortal kin with only the youngest of us not yet having experienced it. After all, who from the streets of 1800 would recognise the world a mere two centuries later?

My culture was an older one...more barbaric in some respects and definitely simpler. It had set great stock in names, for example. One always knew one's lineage due to the fractious nature of tribal, regional and even mercantile relations. Our allegiances and therefore our day-to-day lives were governed by who our ancestors were and we greeted strangers by giving them the names of our forebears. In such a climate names were obviously important and to award someone with a nickname – be it complementary or derogatory – meant that one was obliged to offer an acceptable gift to the recipient. That cost alone deterred many a deserved epithet, I remembered with a small smile.

Consequently, on those rare occasions when I crossed paths with other vampires I firstly tried to avoid their attentions, secondly spent as little time as possible with them and finally and perhaps most importantly both gave and probably received a false name. My past was all I really had, so I guarded it jealously and awarded it where I saw fit, not blurting it out to all and sundry simply because modern custom demanded it. That would be uncouth in the extreme.

'_Scar Face and Big Oaf?'_ I muttered to myself not without some amusement. I was losing my touch if that was all I could come up with, I thought ruefully as I nursed yet another malodorous cup of cheap coffee under yet another of the many verandahs which so many of the shops here had erected in order to protect their patrons. The smile waned as my eyes were inexorably drawn towards the tree line once again and I realised I would soon have to leave this place. I yearned to resume my gentle wandering with its undemanding pace and the soothing contemplation which accompanied it. I was not now, nor had I ever been, a gregarious creature…unlike these golden-eyed curiosities. I would give them one more day before taking their advice and leaving a letter for them at the local post office.

But would that be enough? If the Italian idiots really were intent on ending this sooner rather than later, where did I stand? Could I and other nomads avoid being sucked in? Whereas it was true we did form the vast majority of our kind, we were disadvantaged by the fact that we were isolated, disorganised…weak. Most would accept the status quo simply because it required nothing from them except secrecy in return for a life much like my own. The Volturi may be power-craving dictators, but they were hardly unintelligent as the lightest of hands could still wield a heavy whip when necessary. I for one could think of no examples previous to the latest one when they had acted outside of their own rules. They really did seem to do little more than clean up the occasional mess and it would be difficult to convince most nomads to the contrary. Of course, that was why they were now eliminating those who had seen, I thought sourly.

If and when the schism came, it would be bloody in the extreme. The Volturi would have numbers on their side and an organised attack against another undoubtedly haphazard defence. They would divide and conquer, catching the allies thrown to the four winds where they would be dealt with so much more easily. Once they had won, what would there be to stop them clamping down on the general population as had so many challenged dictators in the history of mankind? Vampires we might all be, but power was power and it responded in much the same way to threats. In an attempt to weed out dangerous talents, would we all have to pass before a committee in order to gain permission to live? Stronger individuals might be eliminated entirely or assimilated into the rank and file of the army. Of course, the choice would not be couched in such stark terms, but it all amounted to the same thing: serve or die.

Again, no thank you - no boot on my neck. The key to this was that tiny seer. To implement this plan, she would first have to be neutralised and that meant all of the Cullens would have to be dealt with. I couldn't allow that to happen. I knew that already and had made that decision quite a while ago, I realised. Why then did I feel so uncomfortable, I wondered as I swirled the cold coffee in the paper cup and attempted to ignore the call of the forest.

I was no martyr and cared not for the fate of the Cullens, I tried to convince myself. It was purely an intellectual decision which would yield the greatest benefit to me in the long run. Yes, that was it: logic dictated my course of action. The last time around, the newborn who had neutralised Jane and Alex had been the strategic obstacle. As they had never conceived of such a strange talent, the Volturi had had no defence or attack planned in order to counter it. The next time they chose to attack, however, it would no longer be an unknown and would therefore be a tactical problem, although an admittedly hefty one. Sheer weight of numbers could successfully overwhelm an opposing force – I should know having seen the clash of armies in my youth. No, the key was now the seer. She must now be ranked as the prime strategic obstacle to the Volturi's machinations and she must be protected at all costs.

I would try once more to speak to them and then I would skedaddle with a clear conscience, I decided. If they had already arrived to the same conclusions as I had, then no harm had been done. Scar Face was an experienced killer and by dint of that a tactician, but was he or any of the others a competent strategist? Freaks!

"In advance, sir, I do apologise for having eavesdropped on your thoughts. But I am sure you will realise that it was prudent that my family and I assuaged our fears regarding you?" said a smooth, young voice not ten metres behind me.

I did not jump at the calm words, nor did I curse or in any other way evince anger, shock or frustration. I merely sat there as I felt in turns disgusted with myself and grudging admiration for the Cullens. Whichever one he was, he must have approached from downwind, of course, but also with the perfect imitation of a human's walk, ticks and even respiration, for had he strayed even slightly from perfection, I would undoubtedly have detected his presence.

"Please forgive me for being so forward, but you don't appear to be entirely convinced by your own arguments. If I were pressed to offer an estimation, I should say that you recognised the path you have chosen as the correct one, the moral one, yet you seem afraid to recognise it as such. That is a somewhat curious attitude, if I may make so bold as to offer a personal opinion."

Damnation! How long had he been there rifling through my brain? What was the extent of his power? I dredged up a piece of poetry which I concentrated on in an attempt to make things more difficult for the boy. If I concentrated on the difficult metre, it might help keep him out of my head.

_Fjörlausa hykk Frísi_

_friðskerðir þar gerðu,_

_brauzt með byggðu setri_

_Brandfurðu, þik randa;_

_Játmundar hlaut undir_

_ættniðr göfugr hættar,_

_danskr herr skaut þá dörrum_

_drótt, en þú rakt flótta._

"My name is Edward Cullen," he said by way of introduction.

"No, it isn't," I replied unthinkingly. "You can't all be related, so logically your name is something else."

"Edward Cullen...né Masen," was the prompt reply. "However, that was only for the human part of my existence, and as you know perfectly well the memories of that time grow dimmer with each passing year. I am a Cullen now and ever shall proudly bear that name."

_Damn __you for having heard so much of me! I should be able to choose whether or not to reveal so much of myself!_

"Many friends and acquaintances are of the same opinion as you, but I can and do endeavour to afford those close to me as much privacy as I am able. I give you my solemn word that I will extend to you that very same courtesy now that I know you are what you claim to be," he assured me in tomes of solemn sincerity. For a brief moment, I held a mental image of him as an all-too sincere politician dressed in a suit, his latest cause ringing clarion clear from a shining face.

_Skjöldungr, vant und skildi_

_skœru verk, hinn sterki,_

_fekk blóðtrani bráðir_

_brúnar Assatúnum;_

_vátt, en valfall þótti_

_verðung, jöfurr sverði_

_nær fyr norðan stóru_

_nafn gnógt Danaskóga._

"Generous of you," I grunted in stark contrast to his own urbane courtesy. "So will you now permit me access to your precious family in order that I can appraise you all of recent developments?"

"Yes, I think that would be acceptable. Shall we say tomorrow evening?"

"Whenever and wherever, boy – the sooner it is done the better, as far as I'm concerned."

"As you wish, sir. You can follow my scent to the house unless you would prefer to be collected?"

"I will walk. I assume there will be no boundary issues with the shape shifters?"

"No, sir, but please be aware there is one resident in our house and that others regularly visit. Therefore, please do not be alarmed by any scent trails you encounter close to the house. They will be made aware of the reason for your presence and will not venture into the immediate vicinity the duration of your stay here. We recently decided to abandon the established frontiers between our respective territories and no comingle at will."

"Lunacy!" I complained.

"You are by no means in the minority to think so," he replied with what seemed like amusement.

I heard a chair set down lightly on the wooden verandah and a moment later he was standing in front of me. For long moments we regarded one another. Whereas I took in his apparent youth, unarguable beauty and modern clothes – he was every inch a creature of civilisation – he seemed preoccupied by my crimson eyes. With a slow nod of my head, I indicated to him that he should leave.

_Bjóðr, vant brynjur rauðar,_

_blíðr stórgjafa, síðan_

_lætr önd áðr þrek þrjóti_

_þinn fyr Norðvík innan._

"Idiot!" I scolded myself as he walked away, tall and proud.

*


	3. Hallenhaus

**Chapter T****hree – Hallenhaus**

"_My precept to all who build is that the owner should be an ornament to the house, and not the house to the owner."_

_Marcus Tullius Cicero_

**S****unday 14****th**** January, 2007 – 19.55**

The werewolves had been warned of my presence here in Forks, apparently, but I wasn't about to take any chances. I knew perfectly well where the now-defunct boundaries between Cullen and Quileute lands were and planned to observe them scrupulously. Besides, I was only walking from town to the Cullens' residence, so wouldn't be coming anywhere near what had once been disputed territory where an over-eager puppy might feel justified in taking offence to my presence.

When I walked somewhere, I really walked. What was the point in charging through the world using hyper-acute senses to catalogue details for later analysis and consumption? I always had and always would prefer dawdling along at a human pace, taking my time to savour this fleeting environment. The thrill of drawing a sprig of pine needles through my fingertips as the heavily scented forest air intoxicated me was a pleasure incomparable with any other; the feel of the loam shifting subtly under my light tread made each and every footfall unique – a never to be repeated experience; rough bark attempting to communicate the unique story of each individual tree to my restless eyes. All of it was simultaneously beguiling, melancholy, comforting and it was all to be savoured at its own pace.

Not for the first time, I was possessed by an overwhelming desire to run far away from this place. The strange Cullens with their odd alliances; the terrible Volturi with their insatiable lust for power, endless paranoia and feints within feints; my own suddenly ungovernable moods – I felt unseen walls closing in around me and liked the sensation not one bit.

After a pleasingly long period of time sauntering along, I was feeling more relaxed before I caught a glimpse of white ahead and did my best to guard my thoughts. It was not just that I had my little secrets, but also that I had no desire to reveal _anything_ about myself to these people. I hadn't chosen to admit them to my life, so why should they garner information about my likes and dislikes? Edward seemed decent enough in a staid sort of way and I didn't want to offend him unnecessarily, but nor did I want the unnatural parasite rummaging around in my mind for whatever he wanted. This last I thought slowly and clearly, a good jot of malicious glee intertwining with the sentiment and the smile quickly faded. I dredged up another passage of difficult prose with which to distract myself and frustrate his efforts, but the satisfaction I felt with my own cleverness soon dissipated.

Someone was waiting for me. Yet another in the line of fetching Cullens, I noted sourly. He was tall, blond and as urbane in his appearance as Edward – an incongruous sight in the middle of a dank, dirty forest. Raising a hand to acknowledge he had seen me, the male started forward at the same slow pace I used, easily avoiding any and all contact with elements of the forest which might spoil his immaculate clothes. Heaven forfend that that should happen! As we slowly closed the distance between us, I speculated as to his motives for meeting me here whilst at the same time casually checking the forest around us: neither activity was particularly fruitful, but you could never be too careful.

"And a very good evening to you, sir. My name is Carlisle Cullen," he said pleasantly as he extended a hand towards me.

"Carlisle," I acknowledged with a blink as I slowly brought up my own hand to meet his. A moment of comfortable pressure and his hand retreated to the pocket of his jeans. Vampires had no need to support body parts in order to be comfortable, so I took it as a gesture on his part designed to make me more comfortable.

"Forgive me if I have been presumptuous in coming out to meet you, but Edward intimated that crowds or enclosed spaces might prove to be distasteful to you. I thought I'd offer you the choice of your venue and audience," he explained.

"Decent of you," I acknowledged curtly. I searched his strange eyes for any hint of dissimilation, but there was none to be found. Was this indeed a courtesy or was it an attempt to manipulate events? I found I was tired of analysing the swirl of events surrounding these bizarre people, so resolved to lay my cards on the table before I skedaddled.

"Carlisle, I want to explain and leave. I mean you no disrespect, but I am not like you and your…family. Not many of our kind are, I think. I look at you and feel deeply unnerved as I do not know what to expect from this coven, and when that happens, cousin, I feel afraid," I explained.

"Anything you can do to help us would be very much appreciated…and never forgotten," he assured me earnestly. "Please, I would like to offer you such hospitality as I am able. Whilst you are in my house, you have nothing to fear. Surely you know that?"

"Yes," I replied huskily as I eyed the white mansion uneasily. "Yes, I suppose I do."

*

He gestured towards the mansion with his hand by way of invitation before setting off before me. Abruptly turning his back on me was not the rude gesture a human might have taken it for – quite the opposite, in fact. By walking before me, he put himself at a distinct disadvantage should violence erupt between us. To be sure, his entire coven was close by, but had things have turned ugly he would have suffered for his courtesy. Besides, he can't have been feeling at all comfortable in such a vulnerable position as he dawdled along at my previous pace. I sighed. This man seemed to have a knack of making me feel uneasy, but it was not by design.

I studied him as he walked and with the exception of his well-worn but highly expensive walking boots, his clothes were entirely apt for his life amongst the humans. A deep burgundy jumper worn over a denim shirt and pressed khakis slacks would make him all but indistinguishable from middle class America. Such clothing was practically _de rigeur_ for one who hoped to fit in...or to lull one's prey into a false sense of security. I tutted, disgusted with myself for automatically following this somewhat cynical line of thought, and cleared my throat in a thoroughly human gesture.

"Carlisle, I must apologise. Although it is no justification for my reticence, I fear that long isolation from our kind has robbed me of my manners."

"Please..." he began, turning his head to regard me.

"I am son to Hrossbjorn," I blurted out, fearing I would retreat into my shell once more. There was a long pause as he waited for more, but when it was evident that I had finished speaking he surprised me once more.

"So that would be Hrossbjornsson?" he asked with a slight frown. "Or possibly it is fashioned Hrossbjornsen? What with the variance amongst modern Scandinavian languages, I can only assume that the dialects of old..."

"The former," I affirmed hastily, strangely unnerved by his casual handling of my name. Unable to meet his eye and feeling awkward that I was not going to reveal any more information about myself, I smiled and gestured towards the house. This time we walked shoulder to shoulder. I relaxed slightly, feeling that perhaps now I had somehow contributed to the burgeoning relationship and whilst I was not about to be manipulated by anyone, I felt compelled to give a good account of myself in front of this individual. Before I could analyse this curious urge any further, we were standing at the foot of the wooden steps leading up to his abode.

"Won't you come in, Mr. Hrossbjornsson?" he invited me before mounting the stairs to open the door for me.

I sighed at the 'mister'.

*

I stood in the doorway rather than stepping through it, unable to help myself. After all, I was entering the Devil's Lair so I could hardly begrudge myself that small caution, could I? Aware that Carlisle was holding as still as only a vampire could, I took in the room before me. To my left was a woman with wavy bronze hair and a slight though genuine smile on her face. In between her and Scar Face was a grand piano on a raised dais, a detail which seemed oddly fitting for the scale of this large room. My ugly friend was glowering at me from his place in the hallway which led away to the back of the house and I curled my lip at him before looking away in a show of disdain.

To his right came a wise semi-circle of cream sofas and armchairs where I found the rest of this coven-cum-family. Edward was the first. He was leaning forward in an armchair, his hands clasped before him and an earnest expression on his face. I nodded to him and received the same gesture by way of reply. In the middle of the main sofa were a strikingly handsome woman and the Big Oaf, both of whom seemed to feel the need to drape themselves over one another as if they were tangled up in bed. Finally, on the side of the room farthest away from me was the tiny seer who sat calmly – almost primly – in her solitary armchair. Turning back to Carlisle to allow him to labour through the inevitable introductions, I caught sight of something wholly unexpected and froze.

In this house full of vampires who were inexplicably able to co-exist peaceably with each other, there was a long wall made almost entirely of glass. To super-predators whose senses were so acute, it could not possibly have been an accident that on one plane of our vision the wall acted as one enormous mirror. I stood immobile as I regarded the figure whose eyes locked with my own. He was short by modern standards and would often be surpassed by the women of this age. Atop his head sat a tangled mop of short, black hair which stood in stark contrast to the paleness of his alabaster skin and his face was nondescript save for those high, pointed cheekbones.

I blinked and lowered my fingertips from my face as did, of course, the man in the mirror. Whereas a human would not have noticed anything other than an infinitesimal pause, everyone present was perfectly aware that I had been away with the fairies as I had stared at myself.

"_Humph_," I grunted and I could have sworn that Pretty Boy quirked his lips.

"Esme, I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Hrossbjornsson," said Carlisle smoothly. I noted he was standing with his arm around his wife just as she embraced him. The physical contact seemed not to be affected in any way and again my eyebrows contracted involuntarily at yet another example of atypical behaviour.

"Welcome to our home," she said simply.

"Madam," I acknowledged her.

"Then we have Jasper, Edward and Emmet with whom I believe you have already met? Finally, we have my daughters Rosealie and Alice."

"A pleasure to make _your_ acquaintance, ladies," I said, noting yet another slight smile as Edward noted my indirect insult. Everyone present was a vampire, of course, so I was aware that I was being more than a little childish. Our kind notes everything and misses nothing, so it was hardly as if my feeble wit was the height of subtlety.

"The others?" I asked, determined to rein myself in and stick to the business at hand.

"Yes," agreed Carlisle as he glanced quickly at Esme, seemingly in order to gain some measure of strength from her presence for a difficult task. My daughter-in-law, Bella, granddaughter and a family friend, Jacob Black are not here this evening. We thought it best given the fact that…"

"I might fly off the handle, try to kill the werewolf and feed off the child? I quite understand, I assure you; it was the only responsible thing to do and to tell the truth, I am not quite sure how I would have reacted to the…to Black's presence. Please do rest assured, however, that my self control around potential sources of food is highly evolved. I have never even considered your dietary path, truth be told, but with age comes increasing control," I stated, seeking to smooth over my earlier behaviour.

I had moved slowly over to the piano's stool as I spoke and sat down there. Wanting to move things along, I settled myself and tried to paste an expression of calm composure on my face in spite of the crawling sensation Scar Face was giving me. He was a scant few feet away to my left, glowering at me for all he was worth from his place at the mouth of the passage to the right of the stairs.

"Perhaps we might begin now?" I prompted Carlisle before turning to meet Edward's eyes. "Undoubtedly this exercise will precede a much longer question and answer session, so let us allow Edward his freedom and see where it takes us."

_If you haven't already been trying to root around in my head, you overly-pretty parasite!_

"That sounds like a good idea. Edward, are you prepared?" asked Carlisle.

"Yes, I am. Mr. Hrossbjornsson, please take yourself back to the night of the attack and remember as much as you are possible. I will ask you several questions and perhaps will need to issue you with instructions in order to obtain a clearer picture of what happened."

_Framm gekt enn þars unnuð_

_almr gall hátt við malma,_

_knáttut slæ þars sóttuð_

_sverð kastala verja;_

_unnuð eigi minni_

_ulfs gómr veit þat rómu,_

_hnekkir hleypiblakka_

_hlunns, á Tempsar grunni._

It was a curious sensation as I attempted to follow Pretty Boy's simple-though-thorough instructions which were designed to not only provide him with a genuinely comprehensive overview of my little tête-à-tête with Demetri, but which were also intended to trip me up in any falsehoods I might have wished to include. I was nervous, of course, but not for the reasons any of those present might have imagined.

My recall of the brief scuffle was as perfect as any vampire's could be, but there was one tiny detail which I desperately wanted…which I _had_ to obscure from Edward. With all my effort I remembered the images of the fight as I simultaneously concentrated on the words of a long-forgotten skald. The sensation was unsettling simply as it seemed I had two totally unrelated streams running through my head at the same time. Staring deeply into bizarre cinnamon eyes, I resolved not to fail.

_Svíum hnekðir þú, sóknar_

_siklingr örr, en mikla_

_ylgr, þars á hin helga,_

_ulfs beitu fekk, heitir;_

_helt, þars hrafn né svaltat,_

_hvatráðr est þú láði,_

_ógnar stafr, fyr jöfrum,_

_ýgr, tveimr við kyn beima_

"Well?" demanded Scar Face the instant the look of concentration melted away from his brother's face.

"Demetri confronted our guest and explained his intentions. They lunged for one another and then there is a blur of motion before Demetri's body parts are being incinerated…somewhere," murmured a cool Edward.

"I broke a gas pipe and used that to cremate the remains as the pressure was high enough to make a quick job of it," I explained helpfully.

"_Lunged?"_ demanded Scar Face. "What do you mean?"

"Just that," replied Edward whose eyes were still boring into my own.

"That makes no sense!" his brother hissed. "No fight could be over that quickly! The coup de grâce, yes, but the preliminaries? Demetri took an age to pin you in Volterra…"

"You fought Demetri?" I interjected, determined to distract them all as much as possible – to fan the flames of dissent as a distraction.

"Yes, I…"

"Edward! What else is there? No one can rip a Volturi assassin to pieces in the blink of an eye – not even another of their pet killers. He is hiding something!"

"Oh, obviously!" I agreed wholeheartedly, waving aside the statement with a flip of my hand so as to suggest it was ridiculous.

"I can't see anything…untrue," Edward confessed. "His capacity for shielding his mind is formidable, but the thoughts I am receiving _are_ the truth; of that I am quite sure."

"You see?" I asked Scar Face with a smug expression on my face which in no way reflected the turmoil I felt inside. Had I managed to hide it well enough, or was Edward just putting on a convincing act of his own? I feigned satisfaction and went so far as to raise my eyebrows at the rest of those present, but such theatrics wilted in the face of Carlisle's thoughtful expression and Esme's worried one. As the conversation opened up, I got up and moved to examine the curios which adorned the shelves to the left of the piano.

"Edward cannot be lied to – we all know that," began Carlisle calmly, raising a finger slightly to forestall Jasper's predictable objections. "At the end of the day, that's all that matters. We always knew the Volturi would return one day, but logic dictated that the confrontation would be later – much later, in fact – than sooner. What would they gain by sending a plant so early? Again, logic tells us that they would not as forewarned is forearmed. If we accept this information at face value – and I personally am inclined to do such a thing – how do we proceed from here?" he asked them all, but his eyes rested on their resident military genius.

"We fight…don't we?" the Big Oaf chipped in. At such a simplistic contribution, I paused in my examination of an exquisite French-Norman chess set of midnight-black marble and dark-green obsidian in order to glance back over my shoulder at the shambling great bruiser. Was anyone capable of such naïve simplicity?

"When, where and with whom?" demanded Rosealie in a bitter tone of voice. "We can hardly call such friends as we do have to reside here all the time. Maybe the Volturi want us to do that so they can attack someone else? Or they might set out to attack us fifty times just to retreat once more. Would anyone except the _dogs_ answer our call on the fifty-first such alert?"

A pregnant silence followed this astute observation and as I looked up from leafing through what appeared to be a first cut of Nathan Bailey's _Dictionarium Britannicum_, I caught sight of the verdant forest through the window. Gently replacing the tome back on its stand, I dwelled on what I saw for several seconds. Surely I had done all I was able to by now. I could depart this place with a clear conscience, having done what I realistically could, and resume my wanderings. Or perhaps I ought to stay a few hours more? If I afforded them all the opportunity to press me further on the matter, it might serve to stiffen their resolve and set their collective feet on the path to resistance. If the eyes of the Volturi were set firmly on this coven, I surely would be able to find an obscure corner of the world to lie low in until things blew over. I took a breath in order to excuse myself, but never uttered those words.

"Jasper!" gasped the small woman – Alice – as she reached out an arm to him even as her eyes refocused from wherever they had been fixed. He reached her side and fastened his attention on her with a frightening intensity even as she turned her eyes on me, as did they all after a few brief seconds. I had the distinct feeling I really should have left just a few minutes ago.

*


	4. Tempus Fugit

**Chapter ****Four – Tempus Fugit**

"_When all else is lost, the future still remains."_

_Cristian Nestele Bovee_

**Sunday 14****th**** January, 2007 – 20.45**

Alice sat in her corner of the room with her ankles crossed and her hands folded in her lap. That she gave the impression of calm composure regardless of the somewhat charged emotional atmosphere in the room was hardly a surprise: all vampires were in complete control of their bodies, after all. Indeed, her poise might have been more believable had Jasper been employing his own unique talents to calm everyone down instead of glowering at their guest from what she archly imagined to be his perch in the mouth of a dark little cave.

She regarded her leonine love with the deep affection with which a soul mate engendered in his or her partner at all times, but this was tempered with a growing exasperation. He was hardly a newborn, but here he was doing a creditable impersonation of a human adolescent with all of his scowling and demonstrable dislike of their visitor. It was understandable, to some extent, and even admirable, she admitted. He was protective of her and she was a more committed member of this family than he had yet managed to be. The result of that situation was altogether predictable with a vampire: naked aggression and hostility when the hunting grounds or nest were invaded. It was frustrating, but at the same time it was endearing. Still, she would speak to him later about it with the intention of pouring oil on troubled waters. He was an intelligent man and perhaps she should not have expected to be obliged to do so, but regarding the other people surrounding her perhaps it wasn't as surprising as it might otherwise appear to be.

All those present this evening were mature vampires with decades if not centuries of learning and experience under their respective belts. That being the case, however, it was hardly realistic to expect a uniform mode of behaviour from everyone. Even those who shared common experiences for decades differed significantly in temperament and opinion. Carlisle, for instance, was every inch the natural leader. His intelligence was as evident as it was profound, yet his greatest strength was his empathy…his emotional intelligence.

Edward had been deeply affected by Carlisle as was only natural seeing as he had lived the majority of his life as an immortal under the older man's tutelage. This did not result in anything like a similar disposition, however. Her brother's book learning left him reliant on their father for practical guidance and woefully unprepared for life's little surprises. To those outside the family he might well appear to be calm and in control, but under the cool surface was a pool of self-doubt which often verged on loathing. They had all been worried about him when Bella had erupted into their lives as he was little more than an adolescent by their own standards.

Then there was this Hrossbjornsson. Just as much as any of those present he was in perfect control of his body, yet despite this fact he managed to give off the impression of a nervous restlessness which had him on the edge of flight. He too was possessed of a certain level of intelligence judging by his not-inconsiderable skill for creating friction and sowing dissent. The short vampire must be quite sensitive to basic emotions and inter-personal relations to have fomented this quantity of low-level strife in such a short period of time. It was little more than an irritant in such a close-knit coven as this, but it might be quite effective in other circumstances.

As he rummaged around the shelves next to Edward's piano, fingering the occasional curio from the wide range of the Cullens' shared possessions which were displayed there, Alice felt the slight sensation of falling which announced an active episode of her precognition. Her head tilted slightly to the side, she frowned as she sought to make sense of what was a surprisingly incoherent set of images even allowing for the imprecise nature of her visions. From past experience she knew full well that they might not necessarily be related, so she sought to view them all as isolated as opposed to a single line of events.

_Faceless under the cowl of his robe, the Volturi henchmen slowly reached out a pale hand to place an envelope into the hand of Gianna, the human face the Volturi chose to let face the mortal world an their behalf. Though clumsy in comparison to her masters, she was still grace incarnate as she opened the letter with an antique, ivory-handled poignard. She smiled and nodded._

That was the beginning…that was the choice or intent which might well lead to what she had seen already. But how could that come to pass? It made no sense given that Aro, Caius and Marcus were not involved, or at least they had not yet made any decision to act. Alice made a point of keeping a close eye on not only those three, but also any and all who bent their knees to them as when they did decide to move they would have precious little…

_Emmet, his face contorted with rage__ and grief even as it sparkled under the light of the midday sun, literally tore one of those figures in two before rapidly killing another. Slowly he disappeared under the weight of a dozen or more figures, all of whom sought to bear him to the ground. Just to the side of the writhing scrum of figures lay…_

Gianna was obviously receiving and implementing her orders, but someone must have previously taken a decision. Was there something blocking her vision? Quite possibly so, but what might that be? It could hardly be by design or otherwise the same method would have been used to hide the whole decision from her. It hardly made any sense to hide Aro but let her catch a whiff of it just a few links down the chain of command.

_Bella's short, lithe figure nestled in the branches of the tree. In the failing light of the day__, Nessie's frightened face was..._

No chill took her yet for she had borne witness to countless possible deaths of both herself and her family before today. Even given the grisly nature of these ends, she was to some extent inured to the horrors she often foretold. As she waited for any further visions to unfold, her eyes alighted on their guest. He was an incongruous sight as he slouched at the far end of the room, letting the conversation carry on without any input from himself as he let his fingertips trail over the first edition Jane Eyre which Esme had set aside not long before his arrival. The texture of the spine of the book seemed to fascinate him as he…

_Carlisle and Esme were on their knees in front of Aro. He held out his hands to them in mute helplessness as they were dragged towards what were to be their funeral pyres..._

A slight narrowing of her eyes was the equivalent of shocked blinking in a human and when Alice came to herself after this latest vision, she was still looking at the short vampire. Now he was examining a curio of Carlisle's which was also happened to be a favourite of her own. A piece of Jacobean oak, he had obtained it early on in his existence and seemed to be drawn to it when he was troubled. The long-dead artisan had carved the piece into an irregular ring, skilfully working around the knots in the hard wood. Twisting in upon itself, it drew the eye around in a seemingly endless circle and in rapid succession Hrossbjornsson frowned, shrugged and then smiles slightly before replacing it exactly as he had found it.

_Emmet, his face feral but at the same time exultant as it sparkled under the light of the sun, used the headless body in his hands to flail at the fleeing vampires. He succeeded in bringing another one down and immediately leapt upon its back. Jasper flashed t__o his side and surveyed the routed enemy with a grim nod of his head before…_

Although Alice's visions shifted both dramatically and regularly due to the influence of the personal decisions which crafted the future, the results were altogether more concrete…and objective. After all, if you were flattened by a speeding vehicle what difference did it make if you had been killed by a drunk driver, someone not paying attention whilst chatting on a cell phone, or even a responsible driver who had instinctively swerved in order to avoid a deer which had wandered into the middle of the road? Dead was dead and dead was permanent.

The unique perspective afforded to the petite woman by her unheard-of gift permitted her the luxury of a certain level of emotional detachment. She was able to dispassionately analyse the results of actions without necessarily needing to attribute motives to them or judge the individuals concerned. Altruism, thoughtlessness and calculated greed were all, at the end of the day, irrelevant. The result mattered and precious little else. It was by no means a burden as it was this attitude which had allowed her to truly accept Jacob into the family fold with so little effort.

Today, however, in the last few brief moments, she had been roundly and energetically cursing the 'Dog' with every epithet her polyglot mind could bring forth.

"Jasper!"

Edward frowned and closed his eyes in order to better concentrate on his mind leeching as Scar Face fairly flew to his mate's side. Judging by the tiny grimaces and frowns which flashed across his face, his task was no easy one.

"What is it, Alice? It's another defeat for the Volturi, so…"

"It's more than that, Edward," she replied firmly as she placed her right hand over that of Jasper as he grasped her shoulder. Her tone was commanding despite the fact it was also a light, pleasant trill. Tilting her head to one side, she pursed her lips as she narrowed her oddly amber eyes…eyes which were fixed on me.

I only realised this after turning away from the veritable treasure trove of knick-knacks this odd coven had accumulated over the centuries. They had of course collected these pieces after having acquired vampire senses and I too found the ranges of odours, textures and materials compelling. I had allowed myself to be distracted only because my senses were capable of keeping track of those behind me, but I suddenly had the feeling my inattention might prove to be my undoing.

They were all as still as statues. Whereas Edward and Alice were regarding me, the rest of the family was intently regarding them. In quick succession I raised my eyebrows fractionally in surprise, lowered them in mild displeasure and then deliberately erased all expression from my face. It was high time I took my leave now that they were taking this seriously and besides, that bird-like woman was making me feel distinctly nervous.

"Carlisle, Esme – I must be…"

Pretty Boy hissed and snapped erect, his head orienting as if to look out through the stairs to my left. After that things began to heat up very quickly.

"No!" thundered Edward as he turned to look first at Alice and then at me.

"Tell me!" demanded Jasper as he stepped around in front of Alice and clenched his fists as he glowered at me.

"Jasper!" scolded the petite woman, the censure easily recognizable in that lightest of voices. To my very great surprise the murderous brute flinched and looked guilty for almost a full second. Who were these freaks? I should never have come here given that they were so strange. The Volturi were entirely understandable in both their motivations and their actions, but these…beings? I shifted my weight nervously and planned an escape route which was wasted effort, really, as it was speed and not anything else which would settle this matter – who cared which window I bolted through?

"Relax, Edward! What we saw was firmly in the future and definitely not now…not now!" she told her brother, but the shocked delivery of her words gave the lie to her impressively calm demeanor. She smoothed the front of her purple blouse before looking up to meet the collective gaze of her family.

"There is now a future in which Nessie is kidnapped and Emmet, Edward and Bella are…destroyed," she stated flatly.

"But if you can see this possible future, it means that Jacob is nowhere near when it happens. That in turn means that it is a highly unlikely turn of events," interjected Rosealie quickly. She looked almost as bad as Edward in terms of emotional control and again as I found myself at a loss to explain the wide array of emotional responses before me. Perhaps the coven was not as close-knit as I had at first imagined it to be?

"Not if Jacob predeceased everybody else," noted a somewhat more collected Scar Face.

I refocused my attention away from the window opening onto the landing of the stairs and back onto my hosts. My interest had been piqued once more by the way in which they conversed as, ordinarily, such a nest of my kind would have a clear pecking order with elders opining to mute subordinates. Here it was an entirely different kettle of fish, however. Although there were strong personalities in this room, disparate views were both listened to and considered, it seemed. Yesterday such a notion would have shocked me, but then I had not then witnessed this odd collection of misfits at such a close range. What would they do? It was like trying to predict the path of an avalanche – an impossible yet oddly arresting task.

"That…is a possibility, but by no means a certainty," Edward said almost huskily.

"Let's just send Jake to La Push for a night and let Alice get a clear look at things. He'll have to get used to it sooner or later as he can't blind our crystal ball forever," suggested the Big Oaf with surprising practicality.

"_Yes!"_ agreed his mate fervently.

"Not as far as that!" snapped Edward. "We need both him and his pack members as close as possible in case of emergency."

I abruptly turned away to admire a handsome chessboard crafted from midnight-black obsidian and amber-flecked green marble. The contrast of textures and colours were almost hypnotic, and not for the first time that evening I found myself wishing I could spend more time exploring this veritable treasure trove of antiquities: the Cullens had excellent taste, after all. It was several seconds before the silence behind me caused me to turn around once more. This time, instead of an animated debate of spring-tight vampires, I saw they were as still as the statues we all resembled. With the exception of Alice, all eyes were fixed on Edward whose eyes were screwed shut in a wholly unnecessary show of concentration. They opened almost immediately and then, as had his sister, he fixed his odd amber eyes on me. As did they all.

"Carlisle, I really ought not to take up any more of your time as I can see…"

"He is the key," trilled Alice.

"He mustn't leave!" hissed Edward, in response to which Jasper stepped to my right to block the front door whilst Emmet went in the opposite direction towards the wall of glass and Rosealie leaned forward as if to launch herself at me if I so much as blinked.

I had but an instant to decide upon a strategy: fight or flight? I had never tested the full extent of my power simply because I had always assiduously avoided pressing it farther than I had past experience of it working. The day it failed me would be the day I ceased to exist, so I had every motivation to avoid confrontation. I knew I had no choice, however, and gathered myself. Damn these Cullens! I hoped the Volturi would…

Carlisle stepped between us with his back towards me and his arms held wide.

"No member of this family would ever perpetrate an unprovoked attack upon a guest. Mr. Hrossbjornsson is free to leave at any time he wishes to do so. You will all sit down…now," he said quietly but firmly. I expected more bickering or outright disobedience, but to my surprise they obeyed albeit slowly. Esme remained where she had been standing, but then again she hadn't been one of those to get their hackles up.

"As I was saying, Carlisle…"

"Please…please, my friend?"

It was a genuine question and that was the problem. Had the exhortation borne the polished ease of a practiced politician then it would have been the simplest of things to shrug off. Unfortunately, however, it was an honest and emotionally raw appeal from a…man…worried for his family.

"Very well, Carlisle, but I warn you that I will be leaving here after we have finished though it means my death as I fight free. I shall not accept the weight of any chains around my neck!"


	5. Ennui

**Chapter Five – Ennui**

"_I am tired of looking on what is,_

_One might as well see beauty never more,_

_As look upon it with an empty eye,_

_I would this world were over,_

_I am tired."_

_Philip James Bailey_

**Sunday 14****th**** January, 2007 – 21.05**

As I followed Carlisle up the stairs and down the light-filled hallway towards his study, I noted that he seemed to relax, if only slightly. It takes vampire eyes to detect tension in one of our own and even then it is not always possible to do so, but his shoulders lowered just fractionally. The process continued as he entered his very private demesne, I noted. After having invited me in with an absent wave of his hand, he quickly fingered some handwritten notes on his desk as he sat down. Frowning, he plucked a fountain pen from an elegant leather cup set to the right of his various papers and quickly wrote a few words in the margin of the document. It seemed that in mere seconds he was in his element and engrossed in his work.

Of course he was nothing of the sort and was just as aware of my presence as he was of the words before him. Accepting his unspoken permission, I let my gaze roam around the room as I sought to form a more complete opinion of the man and almost immediately I quirked an eyebrow. That Carlisle was an urbane, educated individual was readily apparent. However, what was surprising about him was his seeming pre-occupation with religion, more particularly Christianity. We all were formed by the circumstances of our mortal childhoods, of course, but invariably we left it behind not out of desire but simply by age and experience. When one has walked the earth for just a few decades, one's experience of the almost infinite mindsets the world has to offer tends to soften and even eradicate once precious-held beliefs.

The exquisite artwork which adorned his walls – originals, needless to say – were not all religious in nature, but even those that were not seemed designed to draw the viewer into contemplation on the themes of mortality, violence and judgement. A quick glance at the similarly impressive collection of books revealed much the same themes rendered in the printed word. To be honest, the fact that this vampire was a doctor was far and away more interesting to me. Was it genuine civility which was behind such a life-choice or was it an entirely misguided sense of guilt? How I would like to slowly walk through these forests exploring those very questions with the man, but I doubted that would ever happen. A pity, undoubtedly, but I had to move on now that I had set the cat amongst the pigeons. To do anything else would be madness and would counter centuries of rigid adherence to a philosophy of non-involvement which had never failed to protect me and indeed the majority of my kind who also followed such a philosophy.

Smiling openly at the fact that one wall was dedicated to a complex mappa mundi easily as big as the one which hung in Hereford Cathedral, I eased myself into a chair across from my host. In response to his raised eyebrows I replied,

"Scandinavia is shown as nothing more than a finger's breadth of featureless grey cloth."

He nodded in understanding: such medieval maps of the world were always prone to cultural bias which took form in the reduction in size of an enemy's territory or even the removal of an entire continent. To have a European example of such a tapestry ignore such a large swathe of its own continent was as amusing as it was surprising, however. Adopting a more serious expression and tone of voice, I clasped my hands in front of me and leant forwards.

"Carlisle, I would be surprised if my years did not surpass those of all the members of your coven combined. This is no boasting on my part, I assure you, merely an observation. I only mention it as I am curious as to your seeming pre-occupation with Christian…mythology…if I may phrase it so? I mean not to offend you and envy you your beliefs if indeed you do hold them, but my youth was spent on the very cusp of the introduction of the White Christ's word into northern Europe and at the end of the day I am naught but a _damned_ pagan," I quipped, bringing a wry twist to the lips of the blond man.

"As far as I was able to ascertain after my change, I was born in late 953 A.D. or early in the following year. My father, Hrossbjorn, was the type of sometime merchant, sometime mercenary which is today erroneously referred to as a 'viking'. That word was actually a verb – _víking_ – which simply meant an overseas expedition. People of that time would say '_fara í víking'_ to mean go on such an expedition and the seamen and warriors both would be referred to as '_víkingr'_.

"Those were what are referred to today as the Dark Ages, Carlisle, and the name is an entirely apt one as they were very dark indeed. Might I tell you of those days? I would seek to describe them in order that you might understand me better."

"Please do – I am in no hurry, I assure you," he replied with an encouraging smile.

"My mother, Tórfa, was the second daughter of an Anglo-Norse merchant, so was fortunate in that she had a small dowry. Her father and mine quickly came to a settlement and that was that. There is no need to explain to you the role of women as mistresses of the hearth and home – as chattel - as I'm sure it was similar in your time.

"Anyway, Jarviksholm was where I was breached, or York as it is known today. I had three brothers and the same number of sisters although none of them succeeded in living long enough to make old bones. Two of my brothers, Ulfied and Gríss, were drowned when their snekkje…longboat…ran aground on a lee shore. They were returning from a trading trip to Norway and apparently it had been successful. Too much so, in fact, as according to those who witnessed the incident, had their vessel been less heavily laden they might well have escaped their fate. My father was more concerned with recovering the goods at low tide than their bodies, but then he did have a family to feed. Grief was a luxury few could afford in such times.

"Next to die was my sister, Hrímhildr. One of her feet was twisted inwards when born and when my mother set her down at my father's feet, Hrossbjorn refused to accept her. Apparently my mother wept and begged, claiming the babe would still be able to work in the household, yet my father would not relent. In accordance with the customs of the time she was thrown, still living, into the bay where she joined my brothers.

"I was next to be breached and I saw what happened to those siblings remaining to me. Shall I weary with you with the tawdry and oh-so-predictable tales of woe which chronicled their short, painful lives? I think not. I am quite sure your own stories would be comparable to mine – after all, when it comes to life expectancy and quality of life there was precious little difference between my 10th century and whatever century yours was," I said with a wave of my hand. The blond man nodded curtly in agreement at my throwaway comment.

"Cold, filth, discomfort, death…you know of what I speak, cousin. Curiously enough, one of my strongest memories of those times is of something relatively banal - wet feet. Out of all the horrible things that could befall one, that was hardly the worst…except it was for me. It might well sound petty, I know, but I resented my sodden shoes and my wet, flaccid feet. It was the almost-daily indignity of it all…the hunger, the searing heat or biting cold, the fear as you watch your crops fail, your family die – your livestock perish which was a good jot worse, even – it all chafed at me as it did at everyone else. The widely held view that a peasant doesn't know that he or she is dirt poor and is therefore unaware of their discomfort is a myth, of course. When you can see there are people better-off than yourself, you are all too aware of your lessened circumstances."

At this point the short man seemed to drift off as he mused over those dimly-remembered mortal times. Although the few brief moments which elapsed were correspondingly…orders of magnitude…longer for vampires, Carlisle did not stir as he found he very much wanted to hear this story. Nodding in ascent when Hrossbjornsson gestured towards the small fireplace nestled under the mantle, he waited as the flames were set to the small nest of wood and slowly began to grow. They seemed fitting somehow. Before modern technology had been begat by reliable electricity, a fire was always the focal point of communal evenings of storytelling.

"All in all, I was not in love with humanity and existed from day to day in a state of what modern healthcare professionals might call 'depression'. That explains a lot of our respective times, I fancy – we wanted life, but only if it was comfortable. When a cancer was growing too painful to bear, when your entire mouth was a cesspit of decay and pain, when broken bones would not knit due to lack of good nutrition, we would welcome a calming draft and the short, painfully sharp release of a knife wielded by a loved one or a kindly neighbor.

"And that is how I came to this second life of ours, Carlisle," I said heavily. As I allowed myself to dwell on those long gone days for the first time in many, many decades, I felt the cadences which were my own slipping out into this newer variety of the old trading tongue I had spoken with equal facility to my father's Scandinavian language. When I pronounced my host's name, it came out closer to _Caer Luel_ which was the original name of that northern town. Today they spoke the name with the stress on the beginning of the second word which I found singularly uncultured. Outside, the gloaming closed its jealous fist over the land.

* * *

"Well?" asked Jasper.

"Nothing yet," trilled Alice, still sitting demurely in the same armchair as before.

"No," answered Edward in response to his brother's enquiring glance. "He has a strange mind, as I said before. I caught him out quite easily in Forks, but now he keeps his mind busy to avoid idle rumination. Anyway, to say he is fascinated by Carlisle's study would be an understatement, so I doubt I'll be able to glean anything from him for now.

"It's more than that, however. When he remembers, it is not just with the perfect clarity of our kind – he seems to _feel_ it more. For all of his outward appearance of control he is every inch an emotional being. I don't mean to say he lacks control – quite the contrary, in fact – but he seems to enjoy and embrace his emotions be they good or bad. I've really not come across a vampire like this before," he concluded.

"Can we use that?" murmured Jasper to himself, an eager expression flitting across his face.

"I doubt it. I don't think he is any more or less susceptible than we are to your gift. He simply seems to be an introspective sort of being and that has been compounded by his age and our solitary nature," explained Edward.

"He is even worse than those _dogs_! Is Carlisle even safe with that lunatic?" demanded Rosalie. She pouted as her gaze flicked back and forth between Alice and Edward, a frown creasing her forehead when an answer was not immediately offered.

* * *

"It was at the Battle for South Hamwic - Southampton - when I came to this life, cousin. It was 980 AD reckoned by your calendar and I was the last of my bloodline left alive. Æthelred the Unready had assumed the throne of what we now call the English and his nobles were bickering which provided my kith and kin an excellent opportunity to go raiding in the south and east. I had money, lands and animals enough to eat and drink myself to death had I had the appetite to do so, yet I went with the forces regardless. Why? Well, my own wife and children had died from simple influenza some years previously and my second wife had died in childbirth. I was utterly and irrevocably tired of people and farming and eating and…life, basically. Now it is clear that I went _fara í víking _with the simple hope that I would not come back – oh, how I wanted to end it all, Carlisle!

"It was painfully easy to walk in to that loose patchwork of farms, streets, houses and churches. The local Lord was petitioning the King, apparently, and had left the place without any defense to speak of. The looting, raping and killing were of no interest to me as I was looking for a fight…which I found in there market place. There they had a stout wooden building with stone foundations. Undoubtedly it was there which they had stashed such coin and religious artifacts which they possessed along with their small body of professional soldiery, and consequently it was there that the greediest of our horde descended.

"I…will not speak of that night now. Not now. Suffice it to say I was turned. I had the death I had so desperately coveted, yet not in the form I had imagined," I explained as I faltered, jealously guarding the only things of worth I had remaining to me – my name and the very core of my personal self. On a whim, I concentrated on the anguish and pain of that night and tried to push it out, hoping that the mind leech downstairs would feel at least some of what I did.

"That is what your seer felt, Carlisle. To put it simply, when I was downstairs I was in two minds. The interest I felt for your unique tribe and your enviable home filled with fascinating trinkets warred with my renewed ennui. I am _bored_, cousin! I have had enough life and perhaps it is time for me to move on once again – to establish what, if anything, awaits us after our second death. For over a millennium I have walked this earth and unlike the dried-out power-hungry examples of our species, I do not love myself enough to go on for more time. Ought I to stay here and help you or should I go to the death which I originally had planned for myself? So jaded am I that recently I have taken to wandering into cities and killing 'gluttons', as I like to call those of us who feed more than is strictly necessary. If that doesn't result in my death in short order, I don't know what will!" I groused as my fingers flattened the soft wrought iron of the poker which I then vigorously worked into the fire which had not yet had time to take hold.

For the longest of times I avoided the patient, knowing eyes of my host. What his power was I knew not and cared little, but it exerted a powerful call to me and I fought the urge to give in and meet those twin pools of cloying compassion. The threads of my own tumultuous emotions, the physical environment of his own inexplicable private torment and the necessity for me to endlessly recall the poetry of my youth in order to keep Pretty Boy out of my head were wearisome, however. And so, I wavered and raised my eyes.

"I gift you my death, Carlisle, but I will need to speak to your Isabella."

He nodded, seemingly discomfited by my choice of words.

* * *

Downstairs, Alice smiled and clapped her hands at the same instant as Edward frowned. Before his siblings could ask him what had happened, he simply said,

"I don't know yet, but we might actually survive now."


End file.
